What do you think you're doing?
by kitsunelove4ever
Summary: Your name is John and you steal for a living. You used to live in foster care, but you ran away after suffering for three years from beatings by a drunk care taker. One day you get caught by the handsome Bro Strider! What will happen between you two? HS belongs to the Huss-Master, M for language (in the beginning ;3 hint hint)
1. Chapter 1

**What do you think you're doin?**

**A/N: asdfghjkl I wrote a chapter and then I was like "fucking wait, this isn't the plot I wanted!" So I'm starting over!**

**I'm not going to go through my whole spiel again so if you want to know the rules, look at the first chapter of either THA or TTDW.**

**For my lovely followers that are joining me for a new story: I'm putting THA and NNNC on hiatus until the end of October so I can map out the plot and stuff**

**Chapter 1**

Your name is John. John Timothy Egbert. You'll never forget that name. It's the name your dad gave you. Every person who wanted to adopt you tried to change your name to something they liked, but when you refused stubbornly, they didn't want you. It made you lose a bit of faith in humanity every time.

Your dad died when you were ten and you were taken to an orphanage soon after, seeing as your nana had passed away and your dad didn't have any siblings. You were the last Egbert left.

That orphanage though was probably the worst place you had ever been! It was perfectly fine at first, but after a while, your caretaker, you found out, was a drinker. Whenever she drank, she would make arguments out of nothing and beat you if you disagreed with her.

After three years, you had had enough of the abuse, so you ran. As far as your legs could carry you. You hitchhiked your way to a city far away from that hell hole. The scars on your body still remind you of that place every day.

You've lived here on the streets ever since. You're sixteen now so in a few years you won't have to hide whenever you see the police.

It's not a terrible life, living on the streets, and you have your own policies. Only steal during the day when there are a ton of people, never steal from the same person a month, and never take more than you need. If the person doesn't have cash, you put their wallet back.

Some of the friends you've made over the years let you use their showers every night and give you clothes and blankets when it gets cold. Sometimes they let you sleep at their house while their parents are away. They've made your existence in this world a lot more bearable.

Right now, you're walking down the sidewalk, eyes darting around looking for a target.

There you see one; the guy is wearing pointed shades, black baseball hat, white polo, fingerless leather gloves, and black pants. His blond hair pokes out from his hat. He looked completely aloof.

Good.

Your stomach growled, today was a food day it seemed. What you got from this guy would be used for food.

You walked casually towards the guy, who was leaning against a light post. You extended a hand slightly reaching for his back pocket, where his wallet stuck out slightly.

The next thing you know, you're being slammed against an alley wall. Everything happened so fast you couldn't comprehend what was going on.

"What do you think you're doin' kid?" The man whispered.

You groan in pain as the hit finally registers in your brain. "I-I'm sorry, let me go!"

"Heh, fat chance, kid. Why were you reaching for my wallet?"

"I'm not explaining it to someone who wouldn't understand," you spat. You had to abscond, this is bad. You've never been in this situation before and it was causing you to panic.

"Well, if you won't tell me, I'll have to call the police for attempted robbery," the man threatened.

Your eyes widened with fear. No. No no no no no. You couldn't get the cops called on you! If you did, you would go back to an orphanage, back to hell, back to weekly beatings and lies.

"Well? You gonna speak up or what?"

You tried to form words, but they were caught in your throat. You felt tears prickling your eyes. Aw hell no, you weren't gonna break down in front of this guy, there was no way you would tell him your miserable life style.

Apparently he saw the tears welling up and his face softened, "Look kid, I don't want to call the cops any more than you want them called, but I can't just let you off the hook. Why are you stealing? Why are you even on the streets? Aren't your parents worried or something?"

You lose it. You cry. Right in front of this guy. "I don't have any," you say quietly, looking down at the ground, watching your tears splatter on the pavement.

The guy slowly releases your shirt, moving a hand to your face and lifting it gently. He wipes your tears away. "Hey kid," he says gently, "You don't have to cry."

You try to stop but you can't and after what feels like hours, he drapes an arm around your shoulder leading you into a nearby coffee shop. He sits at a booth in the very back before ordering something to drink, coming back with coffee for himself and hot chocolate for you.

You both sit in silence, him staring at you, you staring at your drink.

He decides it's time for an explanation, "So, you don't have any parents. What about foster care? Aren't they looking out for you?"

"I ran away from foster care," you state monotonously.

"Why?"

"It was not a child-friendly environment."

"I'm gonna have to call bull shit on that. How could it not be a child friendly environment when the whole deal _IS_ kids?"

You raise your head, looking him dead in the… shades, "You think I'm lying?"

"As a matter of fact I do," he snaps back.

You grow angry. You stand lifting up your jacket and shirt, showing ivory scars all over your torso, "Still think I'm lying?"

He wasn't an idiot, he knew those were old scars, "How long has it been since you ran away?"

"Three years."

"So… Let me get this straight. Your dad died when you were little and you were put into foster care. After x number of years of beatings and the like you run away and for three years you've lived on the streets, stealing money out of people's wallets?"

"That pretty much sums it up," You take a swig of your drink after letting it cool down.

"Well do you need a place to stay?"

"What?"

"I'm not repeating myself kid."

"Well… yeah, I guess."

"Want to stay at my place?"

**A/N: I don't know guys, I'm pretty proud of this! And I've got another JohnDave story lined up for you too! "But Sav, you already have two JohnDave story!" Shut up, it's my OTP! I can make as many friggen stories as I want!**


	2. Chapter 2

**What do you think you're doing?**

**A/N: Alright, time to buckle down and get some fucking work done! Sorry for making you guys wait so long but school work and laziness and procrastination has kept me from even daring to think about these stories! But I can't sleep so why the hell not? Also, a few of my shorter stories (like the newer ones) are going into complete re-edit mode so I'm taking them off. Don't worry, I'll put them back up just after I edit them and stuff :p**

**Chapter 2**

Your name is Broderick Strider. Although, you really prefer people just call you Bro, seeing as it is so much simpler and cool. And you know all about being cool.

But right now you're mentally slapping yourself.

What do you think you're doing?

Let's back up a bit.

You were just standing at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change so you could head home. You weren't in a good mood and you thought a good strife session with Dave would help calm you down a bit.

As in-tune with your surrounds as you are, you saw a hand reaching towards you through your peripherals. Instantly you grab the wrist, not even bothering to look at the little shit who thought he could try to pickpocket you. Little fucker, what were you, aloof or something? You were Bro fucking Strider and you were anything but aloof!

You flash-step to an alley way, dragging the kid behind you, so that the innocent passer-byers wouldn't try to intervene. You shoved him against the bricks, finally taking a second to look at him.

Damn, this kid was as thin as a twig but about the same height as Dave making you think that they were probably around the same age. He had thick rimmed glasses covered in scratches. They looked like they had been repaired a million times. From under your hands, you could feel at least three layers of clothes. Probably a t-shirt, hoodie, and a jacket. This may be Texas but it still got cold in the fall and winter times. Even through the layers you could feel his collar bones and it made you sick. In fact, HE looked sick. Pale skin, too thin, cheeks almost sunken in, all this you saw.

It was time you find out what the hell is going on.

"What do you think you're doin' kid?" you asked in a harsh, hushed voice.

The kid groaned a bit. Geez if it took that long for the pain to register something's wrong. He quickly tried to apologize, "I-I'm sorry, let me go!"

You chuckle slightly. Does this kid seriously think he's going to get off so easily? "Heh, fat chance, kid. Why were you reaching for my wallet?"

He shot you a glare, and if looks could kill you would be dead. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to tear into your soul. "I'm not explaining it to someone who wouldn't understand," the kid retorted. You could see in his face that he was weighing out his chances.

Aw hell no, no way he was going to get away. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, "Well, if you don't tell me, I'll have to call the police for attempted robbery."

Honestly, you didn't want to call the cops. They hated you and you hated them so they would probably just let the kid off with a warning just to spite you.

And from the look on the kids face as you said that mad e you believe he didn't fancy the cops too much either. There was a look of pure terror on his face, his mouth slightly agape showing his slight, buck teeth.

You were growing impatient, "Well? You gonna speak up or what?"

The kid opened his mouth but no sound came out. You could see the panic growing in his eyes and he looked like he was about to break down into a full blown panic attack. There were even tears welling up in his eyes. God you're such a fucking pushover when it comes to tears.

You loosen your grip and try to soften your expression, "Look kid, I don't want to call the cops any more than you want them called, but I just can't let you off the hook. Why are you stealing? Why are you even out on the streets? Aren't your parents worried or something?"

You're guessing that last question hit home pretty hard. Why? Because the kid fucking broke down, full on tears falling down his face and dripping onto the ground.

Fuck.

You heard a faint whisper, "I don't have any."

FUCK. You're such a fucking ass. You release your grip on him, moving a gloved hand and cupping his cheek, using your thumb to wipe away the tears. "Hey kid," you say gently, "You don't have to cry."

You can tell he probably won't be stopping anytime soon, and an alley way isn't really a place to talk. So you wrap your arm protectively across his shoulders and pull him gently to a nearby coffee shop.

Hmmm, a seat at the front wouldn't be good. The back seemed better. You lead him to a secluded booth, gesturing for him to sit across from you. When the waitress came by, you just ordered yourself a coffee. Since you didn't know if he liked coffee, you got the kid some hot chocolate.

Everyone likes hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is the shit.

When the drinks come… He just… sits there. It's kind of pissing you off but yelling would draw unwanted attention. Well, might as well just come straight out and ask.

"So, you don't have any parents," you say carefully, watching him closely, "What about foster care? Aren't those people looking out for you?"

And in the most monotone voice you've ever heard, he says, "I ran away from foster care."

This gets your attention, "Why?"

"It was not a child-friendly environment."

Ha, good joke. You feel like laughing out loud, but you just reply, "I'm gonna have to call bull shit on that. How could it not be a child-friendly environment when the whole deal _IS_ kids?"

Now he looked serious. He looks straight into your sunglasses before asking, "You think I'm lying?"

This was starting to get annoying and you snapped slightly, "As a matter of fact I do!"

Now the KID looked angry. He stood abruptly and lifted the three layers covering his torso. You took a sharp breath as you looked at all the ivory marks on his skin. There were small scratches to full on cuts and burns. You could tell they were old.

"Still think I'm lying?" he asks.

"How long has it been since you ran away?"

"Three years."

He sat back down as you mulled things over in your head before opening your mouth to speak, "So… let me get this straight. Your parents died when you were young and you were put into foster care for x number of years. After x number of years of beatings and the like you ran away and for three years you've lived on the streets, stealing money out of people's wallets?"

He nods, taking a swig of his drink, "That pretty much sums it up."

You casually sip your drink, "Well do you need a place to stay?"

No, shut up. What do you think you're doing? You don't even know this kid! But… He was still only a kid. And you couldn't let him get sent back to a place where he would be abused.

He looked at you dumbfounded, "What?"

God this kid was dense, "I'm not repeating myself kid."

He answered hesitantly, "Well… yeah I guess."

"Want to stay at my place?"

What were you getting yourself into?

**A/N: ASDFGHJKL bluhh.**

**OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhh if y'all haven't heard… I now have the matesprite quadrant filled and my position for a Dave has been filled! I honestly don't think I've ever been happier 3**


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